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The Afterpast Review

A Feminist Magazine

Self-Portrait as Bust by Molly Rooney (34, Washington)

10/2/2024

 
please tell me what kind of woman 
you are looking for. 
varnish over my body 
in cold storage,
let me suck milk 
from a ribcage.

treading water is fine until 
a bloated pomegranate 
needs tending.
I could grow plump on horse meat
or an allowance of oysters.

my passport is a fetal bull. 
crowning,
I offer you memories of apron, horseradish, 
razor blade,
the price is ambivalent to me.

my name is not an animal’s head,
a cup bearing black tar, 
a harvest of mink stoles.
​
I would be an intimate citizen,
a moonless pursuit, 
an absolute sculpture.

Read More

Cherry Blossoms by A.J.M Aldrian (Minnesota, 24)

9/27/2024

 
            When I was raised, born of the earth
blood-soaked in toil and mirth
because Mother demanded blood for life
and from which I was raised
           blood of frozen white, that melts in the spring sun
           water, blood, for the life of me
           the death of me

​           Happy, fatal, sorrow-filled spring
Those freakish curling redwoods-
            spiking up from the earth
            bloody with rainwater dew
     
           Now my flowers flecks are stained
if the Gods bore me pure;
I would retain my whiteness
of spring-melted blood, feminine bed sheets soaked into  Mother Earth
           My Father the Sun
raised me unclean, and red strained
Flowering pink

Read More

It’s like: Ouroboros by Cathrina Jakeman (Colorado, 19)

8/11/2024

 
She fed on me; I fed on her.

It
         was
                      a
                                    Queer
                                              feeling,

                      Falling.

I tasted the fruit,
and
i
choked.
Is this how Adam met Eve?

Read More

relapse by Sarah Kaplin (Minnesota, 21)

6/22/2024

 
Trigger Warning: eating disorders

i can feel myself balancing on a ledge,
trying not to slip back into who i once was,
but the pull of it is almost too much to resist.
if i’m not careful, it’ll drag me four stories to the ground,
killing me upon impact.

i feel it in the morning when the cold water hits my empty stomach.
on the days when i open my mother’s sewing box
to hem a skirt that once was too small and see a tape measure.
when i see walk around the grocery store and see a scale,
everything in me longing to step on it and finally know
the magic number that could make or break my day.

my brain says life would be easier if i was starving,
and sometimes i think it’s right.

Read More

I’m Tired by Melissa Mahadeo (Pennsylvania, 24)

6/22/2024

 
​lowly
lonely
low-key
i miss the old me
a girl more carefree
less ugly
sweet like honey
no filter
off-kilter
please don’t kill her
she’s pure, clean
serene, sleeping the sleep of a seemingly innocent
dream
girl
don’t scream

Read More

Inspiration Point by Jane Yevgenia Muschentz (California, 45)

6/22/2024

 
In this version of history, Marge
never went to college / Marge went to college briefly / Marge went to
an all-girls college in the Roaring 1920’s /
in pre-revolution Iran / in 2022 Afghanistan / in 2005 Harvard,
when the school’s President attributed underrepresentation
of women in science to:
“...different availability of aptitude at the high end... a level of commitment
that a much higher fraction of married men have been historically prepared to make
than of married women.” 1
​Controversy arose
when Marge wore pants / rode a bike / drove a car / played baseball / practiced medicine /
Marge was jailed / sent to an asylum for reading too much and managing
her own finances / Marge was rich and White /
Marge was poor and White / Marge was rich and Latina /

Read More

The Reality by Zaila Brinson (New York, 18)

6/9/2024

 
“Congratulations.”

That’s what they said.

We celebrated the fact that,
every month, I now have to stare
at scarlet drops
running down the bowl.

They look at me differently
when I walk into class,
or down the street...

everywhere really, tragically.

I won’t lie and say I enjoy their plaudits
even though that’s what they think is true.
​

The way they examine me,
makes me uncomfortable.
I feel the need to hide
for fear I will be snatched up,
so they can fulfill their desire
to get an even closer look
and uncover everything I want
to keep to myself and protect.

Read More

will you celebrate me? by Sailor McCoy (Kentucky, 17)

6/9/2024

 
Trigger warning: homophobia


late-evening february I am blooming
passionately and feared as the shunned on their lonesome patios
I am modeling out-of-season christmas socks
I am chugging a glass of whole milk
and dropping dry cereal in the snow
I am dreaming --
                        —glaring towards to setting sun with unshaded blue eyes
of the women forming into wives
under the arms of their ballroom men
under the banners: last high-school dance
under the mistletoe: he collects her lips
under the living room ceiling fan: fifty-second anniversary
where I sit: watching it on the big screen
I am ripping my romance movie ticket into scraps


I am dreaming --
                        —I want to become my father’s daughter
he’d carry my arm down the aisle
meet my         husband            when we reach the end
clapping for our lives prisoned together
(unashamed in this dream: we father and daughter dance) 
I am dreaming--
                       —your red-chipped nail polish still holding my shaking hand
of waiting at the aisle end
turning women in gowns

Read More

What a Rhinestone Means to Me by Isabel Grey (Colorado, 27)

6/9/2024

 
What a Rhinestone Means to Me— Duplex

After Jericho Brown

My glamor is my counterculture
Holding an x and y, I defy the suit and tie.

             To my birth, I am not tied
             ​But I cinch my waist with a sash of choice.

Rhinestones over suede is a choice
To persuade a toast in a champagne glass.

             “To your womanhood,” cheers my mirror’s glass
             For she knows how hard I fought for my pearls.

From one synapse, She grew like a pearl
After a grain of estrogen slipped through my lips.

             When I line my eyes and paint my lips
             ​I dot the “i” and cross the “t” in “authentic.”

Watch the queen dressed in authenticity because
Her glamor is her counterculture.

Read More

My Aunt Got Married in 2014 by Sailor McCoy (Kentucky, 17)

5/4/2024

 
trigger warning: homophobia
​


and then, it was my second time hearing     “the l slur”

my father was born from a barber shop to the left
   of my grandmother’s laundromat. he grew up 
        and grew back and married the hair comb his father and his father’s father wielded,
​     everyday, my 

           nana to be drove him up their holler in an old brown buick 
                —always late, always to pick up my mother.
                   scolding  him for his tardy slip, my nana to be wore
                      a cross around her neck: held it, prayed to jesus every morning,
                         lunch, and night. she told me once that she wasn’t irish, she wasn’t catholic. 
                              23 and Me reports she was wrong. 25% ireland, 75% bible belt, I wonder: are 
                                  You what you grow from? my first
                                      daycare was a sunday school. then i was grape juice and crackers. my 
                                      father dreamt of walking in that church, in my wedding.

Read More

Womanhood by Jillian Westin

5/4/2024

 
​no one prepared us
for what was to come.
our brain, body, and spirit
now changed.
where curiosity once lived,
burdens now lie.

was it for the better?

Read More

creating is an inherent trait of women by Izzy Medley (Basque Country, 18)

5/4/2024

 
​a bird in its cage
cannot fathom the ache felt
by a girl desiring to create

i try and i try
ponder and feel
peel a tangerine
but i still don’t feel real

is there something inside of me?
a messy note tainted with blood
“you could do something
bigger than this”

repressed from exploding
unbeknownst to knowing
i am not glowing
should i keep flowing?

Read More

mors babylonica by Hillary (Utah, 20)

5/4/2024

 
when I die
            bury me as a tree
            grind my bones into the finest ash
            mixed with fertilizer into that of the weeping willow tree
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            ​so i can be reborn
            to provide shade for the tired passerby
            shelter for the homeless
            home to nest wandering robins and swallows
            and the rope swing that decorates my branch - dad’s gift to his little girl
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            build a bench underneath my willow curtains
            to let the elderly couple sit
            they reminisce their love on their 56th wedding anniversary
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            my trunk hopes to be carved
            ​with hearts and initials of young lovebirds
            unsure of their own fate
            after sharing their first kiss
            under the weeping willow tree

Read More

Sidelines by Donna Campbell (United Kingdom)

4/19/2024

 
I long to touch her but fear
the lash of rejection
my touch may
incite.

Sometimes, she needs a mothers
love, though to voice
such a need would leave
a soured scent on her
skin no amount of
perfume could
erase.

Occasionally, she emerges
like a frightened rabbit
from the grip of the
unreliable narrator
claiming squatters
rights in a recess
at the back
of her
head.

And all I can do is wait.
​
Wait on the sidelines
in the hope one day she’ll
throw the ball my way
and I will still
have it in
me to
catch
it.

Read More

ghosts by Megan Dingess (Ohio, 31)

4/12/2024

 
​ghosts
we are like ghosts in an old library.
not quite knowing what we’re doing
or what we’re looking for.
searching for. if that is, in fact, what we are
doing.
a tether so forged in the fires of friendship.
two sisters, not of the same blood
but kin just the same.
two apparitions, two spirits who know how to be alone together.
feel that quaking sadness together, and still have no answers.
no resolution, just an open desire
to live, to experience more.
there is something to the act of exploration that is healing.

Read More

It is March Again by Afra Ahmad (Taiwan)

4/10/2024

 
It is March again 
with drowsy Dahlias on my terrace swaying
to the tune of the gentle zephyr

As I hide my face under my thick blanket
I realize that the piercing winter is departing 
with wistful eyes that are moist with tears
ruminating on what you put me through years ago

This act of being a champion in forgiving and forgetting 
is slowly becoming difficult to continue
how long can one hide? there is a limit to everything

How can I conceal what is inside my heart: a fusion of brokenness and light
this light has been suppressed for so long that it has started doubting its potency
how can I hide that which has made my countenance perpetually grim?

Read More

Limbs by Afra Ahmad (Taiwan)

4/10/2024

 
A man without limbs
grapples with negativity
to function properly.
 
She is not
just my mother.
 
The voracious nooks
and crannies
of this house
have been nudging me:
who will tend to us, now?
whose smile will
warm us up?

Read More

Hypervigilance in the Modern Household by Maria Connour (Ohio, 21)

4/10/2024

 
​I so often ignore these things in a futile attempt for survival, 
But I know they will erupt into something bigger.
What will start as something so small, so miniscule,
Will eventually erupt into something I cannot contain with any amount of perfection. 
It’s like waiting for a pot to boil, except you forget about it and leave and the house burns down. 
You still have to sleep in the house, though, because it’s your only house and you’re a child. 
So you lay down in the remains, where there are no walls, only boards, and try to sleep. 
Maybe one night it will storm and there won’t be a roof or walls to protect you.
When this happens you will just let it hit you and freeze.
You will welcome the numbness.
The next day you will get up and start building the house again.
It will not stand long, but what’s important is that you rebuild anyway. 

Read More

How to Love like a Mother by Ashley Malecha (Minnesota, 25)

4/10/2024

 
I like the girl dogs the most,  
how they care so easily,  
licking and curling around their pups.  
I like their girl dog greetings, 
Wiggle your tooshie, honey, wag your tail! 
Is that what you mean when you call me a “bitch”? 
Because somewhere inside the smooth 
skin of my body, there beats a small  
but weighted howl flowing from life’s force. 
Don’t you want to know? 
Don’t you want to place your hand over my chest and feel 
the heavy beating affectionate creation 
that thinks, that knows, 
it will bond with the newborn.  
And yet after all I’ve done,  
you still snarl “bitch.”

Read More

Our Home Roof: A Rondel by Shamik Banerjee (India, 27)

4/7/2024

 
​Fair Luna, paintress of the night,
Employs her brush with polished skill
Upon our quadrate roof to fill
It with the colours cream and white.

Men viewing from skyscrapers might
Deem it a pink sheet—such a thrill!
Fair Luna, paintress of the night,
Employs her brush with polished skill.
​
This roof looks pocked to naked sight;
Therefore, it takes the shielding spill
Of moon-made hues (like man's strong will
to paint his griefs with laughter bright).
Fair Luna, paintress of the night,
Employs her brush with polished skill.

Read More
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